Chapter 45
It was close to midday before Lucy truly awoke, though her sleep had been a broken one, her face hot and prickly and her dreams sharp with robbers and pistols.
Mercifully the day was a cooler, cloudier one, for a blooming summer day should have irritated her further.
A servant had left a bowl of water and she washed her face with the cool cloth for some time before checking her reflection in the mirror.
There was red in her features, some spots darker than others, but that was the extent of it, more obvious on her upper right side than her lower left.
‘It is,’ she said to herself, ‘as well as one could hope to be after being nearly shot in the face.’
She stood, steadying herself slightly. There was something about speaking of the incident out loud that made her feel momentarily faint.
Or perhaps it was her balance, for there remained a ringing in her ears, though her hearing seemed well enough.
She moved her weight left and right, and once she was confident she could stand and walk unaided, she rang her bell for help dressing for the day.
Descending to the dining room she first encountered her father, who swiftly hugged her with an affection greater than either of them often expressed.
‘Lucy, my dear. Are you all right?’
‘It is akin to sunburn, Father. I am sure it may itch for a few days, but no worse.’
‘That is then a small charity to savour. It is a dreadful business, Lucy. Quite dreadful. Your mother wanted to be here when you arose, but also wished to go to town to see what the news was. It is a cooler day so her hay-fever is lessened, while my cold is worse. Margaret went with her. She explained things last night. My poor girls. Dreadful business. Such a dark set of affairs for the whole district.’
‘A set of affairs?’ Lucy asked, for she was quite sure the words alluded to more than merely their own encounter.
‘Come join me for lunch. You must be hungry. I shall explain the news as I understand it all.’
As she ate slowly, Lucy learned that the prior evening had seen a spate of crime across the district.
Another coach returning from the ball had been the target of a pair of highwaymen who had taken several expensive pieces of jewellery and a gold watch before leaving the coachman and guests bound and gagged, to only be discovered in the early morning by a passing farmer.
Roads had not been the only targets. The manor of Lord Rathbone had been burgled, thieves taking assorted gold, silver and money.
Later in the night, perhaps unsatisfied with the prior haul, they tried their luck again at St Martins Hall.
If they had hoped the inhabitants were in bed, weary after a ball, they were sorely mistaken.
Sir Walter and George were still up and heard a noise.
Having armed themselves, they went to investigate, which ended in George being cut on the arm and both thieves shot dead.
It was possible more events were still being uncovered, hence the other Elliot women travelling into town for news. They had been accompanied by several servants and Andrew Elliot had arranged with the staff for a night watch to be posted at Atherton for the time being.
‘It is most upsetting to me, Lucy. This sort of thing doesn’t happen here.’
‘It has been happening here for some months. The St Martins’ coach, for example.’
‘It was a figure of speech, Lucy.’ He smiled faintly. ‘But you are correct. I should not be surprised if the events were related.’
She nodded in agreement. But related how? Such an escalation was unexpected.
It was another piece of the puzzle, but it was no longer an abstract problem having threatened her life and the lives of her family. Each time she caught her reflection that day, far from warning her away, the sight made her more determined than ever to solve it.
Both Lucy and Andrew Elliot were eager for news upon the return of their family members, but there was little more to be learned.
It was good fortune that there had been no further reports of incidents from the night before.
None of the men had been identified, which suggested they were all from outside the district, a fact that was both reassuring and unsettling to the local residents.
That the threat had not sprung from within was a relief, but it left the uncertainty that interlopers might be waiting in the shadows.
Margaret explained that Jim remained in the care of Doctor Matthews, that his condition was stable and that he had thanked the Elliot sisters for their aid in the crisis.
He was to be transported back to the care of his parents as soon as he was ready to travel, Captain Dashwood insisting on covering the expense and care.
Of the captain there was otherwise no news, for he had not been in town during the time the Elliots were visiting.
He had been spoken of in tones of admiration and more than a hint of caution.
It was of course the duty of a gentleman to protect those in his charge, but the seeming ease with which he had dispatched the highwaymen clearly lent an air of danger to a tale that might otherwise have been thrilling.
That a gentleman might dispatch a highwayman might be passed off as a brave tale; that he dispatched three held a little too much suggestion that he was skilled and possibly experienced in such a role.
Aside from a knife wound, George St Martin was also well.
From the intruders at St Martins they had recovered a gold watch and ring that had been taken from the waylaid coach earlier that evening.
The other items, including those taken from Rathbone Manor, had not been found.
Lord Rathbone had met with Sir Walter St Martin, who agreed that any further deliveries of value to the district warranted additional protection.
They would both travel to London to ensure such measures were taken.
All these dark affairs had quite taken the shine off what had, until that point, been a charming ball.
Lucy concluded it was most likely that the goods were buried somewhere in the surrounding woods. With all those who knew the locations now dead, it might be centuries before anyone ever saw the goods again.
She felt a weariness throughout the day that she could not escape.
Her attention drifted from needlepoint, to the pianoforte, to sketches, to the pianoforte again, but always in the back of her mind were the crimes of the previous night.
She did not, as her sister did, harbour any particular guilt or regret for the fate of her attackers – they had quite clearly intended to kill Jim and Captain Dashwood, but that fact in itself raised further questions that she could not answer.
Why such certainty towards execution when the other coach party was simply gagged and bound?
Had they raised a fight then perhaps it might have made sense, but the men had complied and offered no challenge.
Perhaps, if it was the work of the same group as prior robberies, they were aware of Dashwood being on their trail and wished to finish him off.
But if they were the same group, why leave the other coach party unharmed when previous victims were never seen again?
And why veer now into burglary, a much riskier affair?
Their tactics and execution seemed utterly different; from skilled and professional to sloppy and reckless.
Lucy stopped playing her music mid-phrase. An idea had come to her with such urgency she felt certain of it: It did not seem to be the work of the same criminals because it was not.
A fallen branch might stop a coach of ballgoers, but a messenger coach with guards would never have fallen for such a trick.
The robberies of the brandy and of the army payroll had left no trace. They had been skilful and subtle. These latest had been rough and brutal.
Now that she saw it from this perspective it all made sense. She wished urgently to speak with Captain Dashwood, but with evening approaching and the dangers of the past night still fresh, it was no time to be out on the road. Visiting others was out of the question.
So it was that she was forced to sit through the night, restless with a combination of lingering spring humidity, a prickling face and the full moon shining through her window.
The next day the looming clouds opened into what her father referred to as spring showers, but the weather persisted all day long, confining them to the house and Lucy to her thoughts.
The two consolations were that her face was slightly less red than the day before and that Molly had made up a family remedy of an almond and honey salve that, while at once oily and sticky, did seem to ease the discomfort of her skin before bed.